The Lost
by Neri Esle
Summary: The Potters were not the only family destroyed by Voldemort. This is the story of another wizarding family torn apart during the first war. Completely canon. Who were the first victims of a young Bellatrix Black? Who helped Remus catch up on his schoolwork after the full moon? Who killed Tonks' favorite teacher? And who was one of Lucius Malfoy's Imperiused victims?
1. Chapter 1

Okay, I don't really know how this works, so... I guess this would be the disclaimer! I do not own Harry Potter, or anything that JK Rowling created. If I did... well, then I'd die a happy, happy girl!

Summary: A man awakens in Azkaban one day, with no memory of how he got there. His family is gone... and he thinks he may have killed them.

**November 1, 1981**

Azkaban Prison was unusually loud today.

Screams from prisoners always tore through the air, attracting the hunger of the looming dementors. They'd gather at the gates of a particularly vocal cell and depart soon after, leaving a whimpering, sobbing, moaning huddle of skin and bones in their trail.

But on this November morning, the dementors swooped all about the prison, over-excited by the energy. Boatloads of prisoners were arriving, many screaming, some sobbing, others near collapse.

Those wizards assigned to bring the prisoners in did so quickly. Bony, skeletal hands reached from between bars of cells, grabbing at fluttering robes, begging for mercy, screaming their innocence, screaming curses at everyone, screaming for their master, the Dark Lord... Throughout the day, the dementors regained some semblance of control, swooping down the dark, wet corridors, quelling the screams, leaving mainly sobs in their wake.

By the time the wizarding guards were departing, only one voice could be heard, screams echoing down the halls.

"Helen! Helen! Where's Helen?"

By the time night had fallen, most of the newcomers had screamed themselves out, and now fell into a cold, shivering stupor in their cells. The mist that filled the prison was punctured by only one voice, still screaming: "Helen! Helen!"

By the next morning, the wizarding guards had had enough. No number of dementors outside his cell could completely stifle his screams for long, and he had begun mixing other names in with his shrieks. The guards drew straws amongst themselves, and Grimes was the unlucky bastard who had to venture out into the halls and cast a silencing charm around the prisoner's cell, where he could scream all he wanted without disturbing the other prisoners. (If they even _noticed_ his screams, mad with their own despair.)

Fist gripping his wand, mind searching for a happy thought, Grimes slouched along the corridor, shoulders hunched, ready to defend himself against a rogue dementor or an extra long, determined claw from one of the inmates. He considered stunning the wretch, to put him out of his own misery for a bit, so pitiful were his calls.

"Helen! Helen! Where are you? Willard!"

Stopping in front of the cell, Grimes gazed down in disgust at the ragged man who had flung himself against the bars. His eyes were wild, completely mad.

Shivering with cold and the poison that seemed to drift in the air in that place, Grimes raised his wand to cast the spell when the prisoner's bony hand shot out and gripped Grimes's wand arm in a death grip. Shocked, Grimes was yanked forward with surprising strength.

"Where is Helen?" The prisoner had gotten to his feet and was asking the question directly at Grimes, who was more than a little disturbed. "Where is she?"

Grimes tried to shake the grip off, but the prisoner's claws dug deeper into his arm, nearly piercing his skin.

"Helen! Helen!" The prisoner began screaming again. "Willard! Abigail!"

"Impedimenta!" Grimes bellowed. It wasn't the spell he'd planned, but it was the first one that popped into his head. The emaciated prisoner flew backwards and smashed into the wall, crumpling to the ground. Grimes saw, with only a hint of relief, that he hadn't killed the man, merely knocked him out. Yet even now, he whimpered and mumbled names. "Abi...gail... Abby..."

The shock wearing off, adrenaline racing through his veins, Grimes found himself growing angry. Now he had to write up a report, in case this horrible prisoner... number 900487... never woke up, and the coroner found a large lump on the back of his head. It would be easy to say the prisoner was just one of the many hundreds who had accidently killed himself while going mad with despair, smashing his brains into the stone walls of their cell. But Grimes knew he'd have trouble sleeping if he simply wrote this episode off, so he turned and stormed away, completely forgetting to cast the silencing charm in his huff.

**September 1, 1966**

"Roper, Helen!"

It took a few seconds before she could get her feet to move forward, but before she knew it, Helen was walking toward the stool, trembling from head to toe. The witch who stood behind the stool stared down at Helen through her spectacles in a rather impatient manner, but Helen couldn't force her legs (which suddenly felt filled with lead) to go any faster. She turned and sat on the stool, afraid she'd be sick in front of the thousands and thousands of people who were watching her. The witch behind her put something over Helen's head which fell over her eyes, blinding her, and Helen couldn't stifle a whimper. In the distance, she could hear someone snicker unpleasantly.

_Bellatrix,_ Helen knew.

"No need to be so scared, little one."

Helen gasped loudly, and Bellatrix's snicker turned into a laugh that Helen could hear even though her ears were covered. But Helen could have sworn a small voice spoke right into her ear.

"My, you're quite terrified today."

_Bellatrix would scare anyone_, Helen thought to herself.

"Yes, she is something of a handful, isn't she?"

Helen's eyes widened, even though she couldn't see anything.

_Can you... can you __**hear**__ my thoughts_? She felt foolish for even thinking it.

"Of course. I am a thinking cap, you see. Now. Where shall I put you?"

Helen's cold fingers gripped the sides of the stool. _Please, nowhere near Bellatrix_.

"I see she left quite an impression on you. No need to worry, Slytherin would not be a good fit for you, anyway. Too cut throat. But I see you love to read."

Somehow, Helen felt herself relax slightly. _Yes... I love books_.

"A knack for learning. Especially languages. Quite gifted there. Perhaps Ravenclaw would best suit you."

Helen didn't have anything to say to that. Ravenclaw sounded much more agreeable than Slytherin. Helen felt sorry for anyone who had to join _Bellatrix's_ house.

"Compassion, yes, _that_ I see quite clearly. Compassion and fairness and a desire to help others. Hufflepuffs have all those things, although..." And here the hat paused. "I see bravery in you, too."

_I didn't feel brave on the train today_, Helen thought glumly.

"Stood up for that silly Lockhart boy though, didn't you?"

_Yeah, but only before Bellatrix and her friends came into the carriage_.

"Bravery nonetheless."

_I don't want to be brave right now._

"Very well, child. It seems your future lies in...

"**RAVENCLAW**!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2... Here we go! Anything you recognize from JK's books belongs to JK.

**The Lost**

**by: Neri Esle**

**Chapter 2**

**November 3, 1981**

"Grimes! You been at the Firewhisky again?"

Grimes rolled his eyes and looked up from his quill and parchment. Normally he'd love an excuse to stop writing... a task he found tedious and monotonous on most days. But to stop to be scolded by Captain Urlig again... well, maybe he'd rather be writing right now.

Twice before, Urlig had caught him with a bottle of firewhisky when he should have been patrolling the halls. Only twice he'd been caught. He'd lost count of the number of other times he'd snuck a flask in his robes. Sometimes, his skunk patronus was not enough to keep the chill and gloom of the dementors out of his bones, and a little something else was needed. Urlig never had this problem. He seemed unaffected by the dismal atmosphere, or maybe he'd been working here too long.

"No, sir," Grimes grunted back, dipping his quill in ink again and continuing to write.

"Well then you must have hit your head pretty hard, eh?"

Grimes felt his stomach twist and tried to keep the guilty expression off his face as he looked up. Urlig was as ugly as his name. He stood leaning against the doorframe to one of the small offices on one of the wings of the prison, as far from the dementors as one could get on the island. Even so, it was cold here, and the wizarding guards had to bundle up constantly against the chill. Urlig's cloak and layers made him look even stockier than he already was. His face was pasty and covered in stubble... a fashion trend among the wizarding populace there.

Urlig's thick eyebrows contracted as Grimes went on writing, as if too busy to listen to his boss. "Weren't you suppose to cast a silencing charm around that damned cell yesterday?"

_Damn_, Grimes thought. "Oh... yes..."

"Either something shiny distracted you, or you've been drinking on the job again!"

"No, sir!" Three strikes, and he'd be out. "No sir, I wasn't drinking sir." He set down his quill and groaned inwardly. "There was an... accident..."

Urlig raised his eyebrows skeptically. "An _accident_?"

"Yes sir. I went to silence the bastard and he grabbed me! Strong son of a bitch he was, too! Startled me, and I accidently..." his heart sank as he realized how inept and careless he sounded "... blasted him off me a bit harder than I meant to. He hit his head pretty bad. So I'm just filling out a report, just so..." he trailed off, gesturing to the parchment and quill in front of him.

Urlig actually laughed. "Guess you didn't hurt him as much as you think. He's back to screaming again today. Even after the dementors were at him for nearly half an hour. Quieted for a bit, then roused enough to keep shouting. He won't shut up!"

Grimes felt sick as Urlig laughed again and imitated the shrill, panicked shriek, "_Helen! Helen!_"

"Did you silence him, sir?" Grimes asked just to shut Urlig up.

"Of course I did," the captain said. "Driving everyone bloody mad!" And he started laughing again.

Grimes sighed. Captain Urlig had definitely been here too long.

"Well, finish up that report. And when you're done, read this." Urlig tossed a damp copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in front of Grimes, spilling ink all over the table. "We'll be expecting a new shipment by the end of the week." Grimes bit back a curse, and by the time he'd mopped up his ink and refilled his jar, Urlig was gone.

Rubbing his face wearily, direly wishing he had more firewhisky on him, Grimes glanced down at the _Daily Prophet_ headline.

_**Sirius Black Charged With 13 Counts of Murder**_

**September 1, 1966**

"You're as pale as a ghost!"

Helen flushed, and the boy sitting across from her snickered, "Not anymore."

"Quiet Benjy, stop pestering the first years." The witch sitting next to Helen smiled at her and patted her shoulder. "No need to look so petrified. The hard part's over!"

Helen nodded, and glanced up at the witch sitting next to her. She had stringy dark hair and black-rimmed glasses. She smiled at Helen happily. "I'm Selma Moore. Third year."

"Helen Roper," Helen mumbled.

"I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be... intimidated... by Bellatrix Black over there," Selma gestured her head to the Slytherin table. Helen didn't even want to glance over there, afraid that Bellatrix was looking at her. _Why_ did the Ravenclaw table have to be situated right beside the Slytherins? And _why_ had Bellatrix and her followers chosen to sit themselves right at the end, next to the empty spaces left for the first years? Helen had purposely seated herself with her back to Bellatrix, but since the food had magically appeared on the table in front of them, she half-expected to feel bits of potatoes pelting off her back.

Selma was watching Helen closely. "I take it you met her already?"

Helen nodded, her face still hot. "On the train," she mumbled. "She came into my compartment and started making fun of Gilderoy." She glanced beyond Selma, farther down the table, where Gilderoy was jabbering away to some bored-looking older boys. "I told her to stop and she started on me."

"Hmm," Selma pursed her lips.

"Well, take that as your first lesson at Hogwarts," the boy named Benjy announced as he cut into his roast chicken. "Stay clear of Bellatrix. She'll hex you and not blink an eye."

"Just ignore her," Selma said confidently, sipping her goblet. "She'll find a new first year to torment by tomorrow morning."

Helen nodded, still too anxious to eat. She studied the students around her carefully. Benjy's attention was completely focused on his plate. He was scrawny and pale and unkempt, but his face was completely serious. Selma had turned to talk to a girl on her right. To Helen's left was another first year who had been silent the whole evening so far. Ivy Rochester. Helen remembered her name being called right before Helen's. Ivy had chin-length blonde hair and looked just as scared as Helen felt. She noticed Helen watching her, glanced over, and smiled shyly. Helen smiled back. They both relaxed and began to eat.

Helen's appetite surprised her, and by the time the food began disappearing, she felt pleasantly full.

"First year!" Benjy suddenly leapt from his seat and began waving his hand. "First year, follow me!"

"Oh wonderful, Benjy's been made a prefect." Selma rolled her eyes, and her girlfriend next to her laughed. "I guess we can't sneak out for hot cocoa at night anymore." And they waltzed away, disappearing into the crowd of dispersing students.

Helen and Ivy were left sitting in their seats alone. They glanced at each other and got up together. A small cluster of nervous first-years had formed around Benjy, and Helen and Ivy joined them. He led them out of the Great Hall and through the castle to the Ravenclaw Tower... Helen's new home.

**November 4, 1981**

"Helen! Helen!"

Grimes ground his teeth in annoyance as he walked back past prisoner number 900487's cell. He couldn't understand it. The dementors had been all through this area, following Grimes, Urlig, and the rest of the wizard guards as they brought newly convicted Sirius Black to his cell. Now _there_ was a madman if Grimes had ever seen one! As soon as the gates closed to his cell, Black had started laughing uncontrollably and shrieking nonsense words. The wizards had backed away and let the dementors do their job, Black's shouts of "_Wormtail! Prongs!_" echoing after them down the dark, stony halls of Azkaban Prison.

The dementors' pass through the main corridor of the prison had shut up most of the other prisoners, but, unsurprisingly, the screams for "Helen!" still ruptured the otherwise controlled calm.

Grimes glanced at the prisoner as they passed, Urlig talking loudly to the other guards. The ragged, thin man had pressed himself against the rock wall of his cell, fists clenched, face screwed up in apparent agony, his voice hoarse as he continued his screams for "Helen! Helen!"

That was it. Grimes couldn't take it anymore. Prisoner 900487 had to be shut up.

* * *

I'll post another chapter very soon. Probably today. But any feedback would be lovely!


	3. Chapter 3

**The Lost**

**by: Neri Esle**

**Chapter 3**

**September 12, 1981**

"Up!"

She hadn't expected her broom to jump into her hand on the first try, but she was surprised that it had moved at all. Quickly, Helen glanced around at the other first years around her. Ivy's hadn't moved. Min, Helen's fellow Ravenclaw, had more luck, and her broom hovered just under her hand for a moment before dropping back to the ground.

There was a great shout of excitement. Helen saw one boy... a Gryffindor with light brown, curly hair and an enormous grin... raising his fist in triumph, his broom gripped in his other hand. So far, it looked like he was the only one who had been successful.

Suddenly feeling annoyed that a stupid piece of wood should outsmart _her_, Helen commanded, a bit more loudly, "Up!" Her broom rose off the ground and hovered a few feet closer to her hand... before dropping back to the ground.

To her left, Holly let out a stream of curses when her broom began to slowly sink to the ground.

"Ms. Baker, if I hear words like those from your mouth again it will be ten points from Ravenclaw!" Madam Hooch barked.

Third time was always the charm, Helen told herself. She took a deep breath, glared at the stupid broom at her feet for a few moments, and _willed_ it into her hand. "UP!"

"HA!" She hadn't meant to shout it, but the smack of wood against her hand surprised her, and she gripped the broom before it could think of drifting back to the ground again. Looking around excitedly, she saw more than a few people watching her jealously. The Gryffindor boy who made it on his first try winked at her, and she blushed and looked away, feeling a bit more eager to begin. Was this something she would be _good_ at?

Helen gripped her broom and watched everyone around her struggle. A silvery-haired, miserable-looking Slytherin girl got hold of her broom just after Helen had. Gilderoy's broom was spinning on the ground as he stuck his arm out, commanding "Up!" fruitlessly.

Finally, poor Ivy snatched her broom up before it could sink any closer to the ground and held it against her with red cheeks as Madame Hooch prepared them to mount and fly their brooms for the first time.

Helen gripped her broom with both hands, jittery with nerves. Across from her, a tiny Hufflepuff girl looked ready to faint. The Gryffindor boy whose broom obeyed him immediately was standing on his toes, as if they were the only thing holding him to the ground.

Helen jumped as Madam Hooch's whistle blew, and she pushed off the ground with her feet, feeling a bit foolish, like she was jumping with a broom between her legs.

Only she didn't land.

"Whoa!" Min let out an excited squeal as she rose alongside Helen. Down the row, the Gryffindor boy actually raised a fist in triumph, floating the highest of them all.

The silvery-haired Slytherin girl's miserable face broke into raucous laughter as she watched Gilderoy prancing around below, his broom losing twigs with every skip.

"Ivy!" Helen hissed down. Ivy looked up, her face red and anxious. "Don't be scared! It's not scary!"

"It won't… I can't…" Ivy sounded close to tears.

Instinctively leaning forward, Helen gasped as she began to descend until her toes touched the ground gently next to the distraught Ivy.

"I can't do it!" Tears sparkled in Ivy's green eyes. "My parents aren't wizards… I don't know how to do any of this!"

"It's okay," Helen reassured her as more and more students rose up around them, Madam Hooch barking orders in the background. "Plenty of famous Quidditch players are muggleborn! Just… pretend you're riding a horse. My Mum says it's like that… a skinny, flying horse."

Thankfully, Helen saw Ivy's eyes narrow in determination. She took a few steadying breaths and held the broom still. By now, she and Helen were the only ones left on the ground.

"Just… just _know_ you can do it, and then…"

"And then _liftoff_!" The Gryffindor boy swooped by their heads, laughing triumphantly. A moment later Madam Hooch flew by, shouting for him to slow down.

"Nice and easy," Helen reassured Ivy, standing next to her.

Ivy took a deep breath, her eyes closed. Helen waited, saw Ivy's knees bend slightly, and together they pushed up…

…and kept going up!

Ivy opened her eyes and gasped as the ground slowly fell away. She let out a screech as Gilderoy flew rather too close, chasing a feather he saw in the breeze.

"Class! No flying away! Descend now! Back to the ground!" Madam Hooch shouted as most of the students zoomed around the air, exhilarated with their newfound freedom.

"This is.. this is absolutely… amazing…" Ivy was wide-eyed, wind blowing her short hair all over. Helen laughed at her expression. Ivy looked over at Helen, and broke out in the first grin Helen had seen her make. "We're _flying_!"

As they retreated back to the castle after the lesson ended, Ivy chattered nonstop.

"And once you said it was like riding a horse, well, then I _knew_ I could do it! I have horses at home, you see. Thoroughbreds. I ride horses. Ever since I could walk. So maybe I could be… I could be really good at this! And what was that word you said earlier? Kiddle, or Kitch, or…"

"What… you mean Quidditch?" Helen asked.

"Yes… what is that?"

The silvery-blonde Slytherin girl suddenly brushed past Ivy and muttered something before pulling ahead and joining the rest of the Slytherins as they entered the castle. Moments after she joined them, they all looked back at Helen and Ivy, snickered, and walked faster.

Helen looked at Ivy and saw her frowning. "What?"

Ivy blinked several times, still frowning. "She said… _mudblood_. What's that mean?"

Helen gasped. Ivy looked at her quizzically, and Helen, trying to cover up her reaction, shook her head and shrugged. "No idea."

Helen could tell Ivy didn't believe her, but Helen wasn't going to tell her friend that she'd just been called the most derogatory term in wizarding language. How dare that Slytherin girl use that language! Just who did she think she was, anyway?

Helen found out in her next class with the Slytherins, paying close attention when Professor McGonagall took role. And Helen's heart sank.

Narcissa Black.

**November 5, 1981**

Skunk patronus leading the way, Grimes walked through the miserable corridors of Azkaban, shivering in the chill that was worst in the morning. Urlig and the few other wizarding guards had chosen the night before to celebrate the downfall of You-Know-Who; not only was You-Know-Who no longer a threat, but the Ministry would surely be increasing everyone's salaries at the prison, with the influx of Death Eaters that were arriving daily.

So while Urlig and the others were sleeping off a nasty hangover, Grimes, clear-headed and completely sober, went to inspect Prisoner 900487 more closely.

Thank _Merlin_, he'd stopped screaming. He hadn't shut up, oh no. He was muttering and whimpering in his sleep, his voice broken from days of shrieks. Grimes could hear as he approached, "Helen… Hel…en… Helen… Ab…gail…"

Grimes stopped in front of the cell, his skunk patronus circling his ankles affectionately. 900487 was on his side on the ground, knees drawn up in the fetal position, his face tense. He was too tense to be asleep, yet he didn't appear lucid.

Grimes drew closer, holding his wand out into the cell for more light. The muscles and tendons Prisoner 900487's face were strained and twitchy. Grimes thought he made out blood at the corners of the prisoner's mouth, as if he had bitten his tongue or lip. Perhaps the blast backwards _had_ harmed him…

Like a disobedient pet, Grimes's skunk had wandered into the cell and now approached the prisoner.

"Hey… get back here!" Grimes hissed at his wandering patronus. _This_ had certainly never happened before!

The prisoner's eyes flashed open, and Grimes's silver skunk scuttled back to Grimes's feet.

Grimes readied his ears for the onslaught of cries for "Helen!" that were sure to come, now that the prisoner was awake.

But the man just lay there, blinked, and turned his head slowly to look at Grimes. Grimes stared back.

There was several seconds of blissful silence, where all Grimes could hear were the waves outside, breaking against the side of the prison. Then the prisoner opened his mouth and Grimes's blood pressure rose.

"Where's Helen?"

An actual question! Not a shout, not a deranged demand… a civilized, actual question! And before he could stop himself, Grimes responded, "Who's Helen?"

The man's mouth tightened, his face tensed. Grimes thought he'd start shouting again. But the prisoner croaked, "My wife."

"Your wife."

The prisoner nodded. He seemed to be struggling with himself, as if deciding whether to start shouting again, or start crying, or continue with his few moments of sanity.

"You have a wife?"

The man nodded. Those were definitely tears in his eyes. "But…" He went silent.

"I can get a message to her." Stupid, _stupid_! Why had he suggested that? Grimes mentally punched himself. No way would Ulrig allow something like that!

And the prisoner was shaking his head, too, and tears were spilling down his face. "No… no, that would not be possible."

Grimes couldn't control himself this morning, and blurted out, "Why?"

"She's dead."

Grimes frowned. "Sorry."

The prisoner shook his head. "I think… I think I killed her."

* * *

Chapter 4 should be here soon!


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